


Goodbye, Draco.

by AdrianHunter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coping, Cops, During and Post Hogwarts, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Murder, OC's - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianHunter/pseuds/AdrianHunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He killed Draco Malfoy.<em></em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Sectumsempra"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [younglj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/younglj/gifts).



> UPDATE: I changed a lot of things-  
> 2015.2.28  
>  Well I revised this and I like where it's going-  
> It's probably only going to be mature for language.

_Death comes to the non-expecting_ _living_

_ _

Cover by wattpad user -grier- 

* * *

 

When I first wake up I tell myself that I can’t believe it.

I can’t believe that Harry Potter killed me.

I _can’t_ believe it.

I can’t believe that I, Draco was killed by the Sectumsempra curse. I think, well, I _believe_ the incident was partly accidental, because judging by the look on Harry Potter's face and the way that he runs out of the bathroom looking for help, it is definitely not on purpose; but how can you accept being Dead?. But then again looking at my body on the bathroom floor bleeding, my eyes dead and my breathing no more, maybe I can admit it, but that doesn’t make anything easier-

I can admit that I, Draco Abraxaes Malfoy was killed in Moaning Myrtle’s Bathroom on May 18th, 1997.

I feel sad, yes, I wish that I could have died more gracefully or even in a different way, or better yet, _not die at all_ , but I suppose it couldn’t be. I had to die defending myself from a person who found me crying then decided to accuse me and then curse me with a curse that the person probably didn’t even know to begin with.

Deciding that it’s best to wait until help comes and see what becomes of what was once me, I wonder what happens to me after this, if I descend to the heaven with those angels that mother used to tell me about then I wonder if mother will be alright, but I don’t think she will, to be honest.

And father? Father will be slightly bothered at most; it’s funny that I’m not feeling more emotions than I am at the moment. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Then I remember my only friends. Pansy, Blaise, Vince, Greg, and even Terry. It makes me chuckle bitterly- with no sound made, I think if I was alive I would be crying probably, but my noiseless laughter is all I can get now.

“Pansy, Blaise, Vince, Greg, Terry.” I’m trying my voice out, but I can’t hear anything and at the same time-I hear everything.

I think I’ll miss Pansy and Blaise the most; they were as much of best friends as I could get. Even Vince and Greg, but they were working out their issues just a couple weeks back, so contact with them wasn’t as much. And I regret that, deeply. I wish I’d had more time with them-

I think I’ll miss Terry, even if we haven’t spoken to each other ever since “The Hair”. I liked him very much, to the point of heartbreak, but some things aren’t meant to be. Maybe he’ll think of me once he finds out I’m gone.  I hope he’ll think of me.

But where will I go?

I walk to the bathroom sink and look in the mirror; I don’t see myself, and that makes it a bit harder. I really think I’m going to cry now, not for the first time here. If only Myrtle was here, she could give me some company at least. All I see is the deep red that’s seeping out of my lifeless body. Isn’t that wasting blood? I sigh painfully and ruffle my hair. Maybe I can move things, I don’t know, I wasn’t given a _Now That You Are Dead_ handbook. I crouch and look at the scene before me and move towards my body and gently move my hand to my face, I can feel it somehow.

I suddenly feel so cold and shiver. My platinum blonde hair, the only thing on my whole body that I’m proud of is stained to the deepest red, I touch it, it’s soft, like it always is, **was** I guess now; not like the slicked back look I had when I was younger, this is so comforting that I rub my eyes expecting a flood of tears that don’t come.

 Touching my former eyes, I close them; I was often told I had my father’s eyes, it’s true, I did have father’s eyes, the eyes he had when he was himself, all that’s there is nothing but a robot, but all good things come to an end. Life being one of them.

Sad, but true.

I’m ready for whatever comes now. I’m ready.

Voices, voices and footsteps- and running- and I’m hearing it all. People are coming; Potter must’ve gotten help, I can hear shouting and more running and- this is making it harder, being reminded of everything I’m losing or lost.

“Draco!”

 _Severus_ , I almost breathe.

He rushes to my body and props me up and shakes me. Madam Pomfrey shrieks at him saying that he’ll do more damage. He moves from his position and gives her space to do what she needs on me. And nobody notices me standing right next to the body, my former body. I am almost tempted to scream, shout or even punch; maybe it’ll affect them, maybe-

No, I tell myself. It’s over, what would be the point of all that?

I hear spell after spell after spell and there are potions and potions and potions being fed to me; Madam Pomfrey hasn’t taken me to the infirmary because she says I won’t make it. Severus is talking to me, trying to make me respond somehow, but I can’t, _it can’t-my body_. Then I notice that Dumbledore is here, he’s in the center of the bathroom right next to me, and maybe he knows I’m here. For once he doesn’t have that twinkle in his eyes and it’s somewhat of a shame that my last memory of Dumbledore is him looking so solemn.  I wish I understood what every liked about him, I wish I tried more, I wish I lived more, but it’s over, it’s finished, it’s gone.

And for that I wish I could be mad at Potter, I wish I could be so angry at Potter, for taking me away from this world, where’s there’s mother and my favorite strawberry custard that she makes so well, then there’s Pansy and our usual mischief, gossiping about this and that, shopping, dancing; Blaise who helps me emotionally, and our talks, like that time I went through the Great Depression pt. one and two; Vince and Greg who helped me accept myself when I was a child and Terry oh, Terry- _who taught me how to love_.

Then that’s when I see him and hear him-Harry Potter.

Harry Potter weeping, softly.

He’s standing at the entrance to the bathroom in his school uniform, hideous Gryffindor colors with blood on his hands, wand loosely being held on his left. Glasses over his green eyes, that I once thought were warm, but I don’t think so anymore. Just there, tears stream, it’s steady and he’s not making any noise. I want to walk to him, I try, but I get two steps forward before I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I jump, because no one is supposed to be able to touch me, or have the ghost rules changed?

Then I see that it’s Myrtle, floating around like she always does, but this time I am nothing less or more than her, just another wandering ghost, murdered in the bathroom; it’s almost funny and ironic that I used to joke and make fun of the same Myrtle. She’s looking at me, telling me silently not to go to him, but I only wanted to understand, understand why Potter of all people should care. Why? Just why? Why should he cry? Because he thinks he’s killed another person? Because he’s got more blood on his hand? Not because he never cared or tried to know or understand the person he’s murdered?

I’m the one who is murdered; I’m the one who was murdered. I am no longer here, I don’t exist, and I am no more.

What did I do to deserve this?

Why did it have to be me?

Why me?

_Why me?_

“Why me?” I’m saying quietly, but I believe it won’t stay like that for long.

“Why me?!” Myrtle is surprised by how I almost scream that one out. Yet still no one can see that it’s me, no one can hear me, he doesn’t me- he doesn’t me.

“WHY ME?!” And I‘m crying, crying tears of a dark red liquid. I’m crying tears of blood.  Myrtle‘s trying to hold me back, trying to comfort me, the emotions just come, they’re here; what I’ve been waiting for. I don’t know why, I don’t know why I had to die like this, life isn’t supposed to end for me.

“He’s gone” Dumbledore says bereft to Madam Pomfrey and Severus. But Severus is still talking almost feverishly to my dead body. Madam Pomfrey stops everything she’s doing, but Severus is still at it.

“Draco, you can’t-no, you can’t- Draco if you don’t get up this instance I won’t give you those special potions ingredients that you wanted me to- and your mother, oh your poor mother-she won’t be able to manage-

“Severus” Dumbledore tries softly.

“….the training that you wanted to be a great potions master hasn’t finished and-and….”

“SEVERUS!” Dumbledore bellows this time and it’s the first time I ever hear it. I can still feel my tears and I slump onto the floor; they’re moving me, taking me somewhere. Headmaster is saying something about my parents and informing them. Madam Pomfrey covers me with the curtains and she’s sobbing; I liked her and she liked me, from the secret infirmary trips I used to take to get my asthma medicine. 

Severus, oh Severus- my mentor, my father-the one that I never had,  talks hysterically so much that it breaks my heart, I turn away and lean against the cold marble- it’s strange I can still feel it when I’m dead. I cover my ears and close my eyes so I don’t have to hear or see anything. I start drowning out their voices with my own, I blurt things that don’t even make sense- I need a distraction. Myrtle doesn’t seem to be around, she stopped murmuring things to comfort me, where is she?

I open my eyes to look around and see Potter-I see Dumbledore leading Potter out- more like holding him up- and then they’re walking out the entrance and they’re gone.

Even me, what was once me, gone.

The floor is clean and smelling like fresh roses, as if nothing ever happened at all; it makes me sick.

The sun is out for a second I think I can feel it, until I go under its rays and see my translucent body, it’s still too much for me.

“I really am dead,” I say as I slump against the sink.

“I’m dead,” I start chanting on and on and on and on. It’s the only thing I remember saying for what seems like hours.

“Draco, darling, come now,” _Myrtle_ \- she’s back, it’s almost comforting, she looks at me with her disheveled hair, torn dress and messed up make up. I always felt sorry for her, but all people used to do was laugh at her, but I didn’t, I don’t.  She comforted me every time I came to this bathroom to cry. It’s a shame it had to take a tragedy to bring us together.

She puts her icy cold hand on my hair and ruffles it sympathetically, as if she’s not the one that’s not been dead for ages and hasn’t moved her; and to also be laughed at and ridiculed by idiotic students.

“It took me time too,” She says softly and I look at her, I look into her eyes and all I see is dead-dead-dead.

“I don’t, I want- why did I-“And that’s where I stop because the blood is flowing down my face, if I could see myself I’m sure I wouldn’t be at my best. Maybe that’s why Myrtle always looked like how she looked.

I don’t know that ghost to ghost contact is possible until she hugs me, I’m certain that she’s going to hug through me, but it doesn’t happen. I’m surprised, but there are no happy emotions that can possibly come out of this except that I have company, and there might even be other ghosts around this castle and ghouls and phantoms and spirits, if there’s a difference.

“At least you have company now,” I say to her as she breaks the hug, trying for a joke, who knew ghosts could be funny. I also wish that I could feel warm somehow, but I know I’ve lost that.

She looks at me funny before she laughs, not like the laugh we often used to think she laughed like, she almost seemed alive. “But what will happen when you pass on, dear?” She asks with a not-so-smile smile.

“It should be you, who I should be thinking about passing on, you know,” It is the truth, “You’ve been here for so long, I still don’t know why you haven’t passed on.” I regret saying that the minute it comes out and some sort of emotion flicker across her face. I feel bad, I’m sorry.

“Well- I think it’s high time I introduced you to the others.” She says, and I’m grateful she’s changing the topic before I realize what she said.

“There’s-“

“Just come and I won’t have to explain anything.” She holds out her grey hand and I take it; the only comfort I have; I take her hand and pulls me up from my slumping and I wonder whether I can float maybe, I wonder who I’ll meet and I wonder if mother knows yet or Pansy or Blaise or Vince or Greg and even Terry.

I wonder if Potter’s sorry, and what Potter’s sorry for.

 _You have to let go of the past,_ Terry said that day, with the wind in his long dark locks, eyes closed, his whole person basking in the sun, I hated that I couldn’t tan but Terry told me that I was perfect the way I was, and that was the day that I learnt how to love and then later on learnt how to hate even more.

“Draco,” Myrtle says softly, “you have to-“

“Leave the past behind.” And I try to smile at her, but I can’t really. It’s strange, I don’t really know if this is and end or a beginning of something, I just take her hand and follow her into the darkness that is my new home.

“But I don’t think you’ll be here for long,” I don’t hear her say.

And that was the day Draco Malfoy died.

_And never came back._

 

 

  
_On a journey, ill;_  
_my dream goes wandering_  
_over withered fields._

_\- Basho_


	2. Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so soooooorrrrry I took this long  
> please proceed to throw stones at me

_And then those that are left behind._

“-arry, Harry?”

Harry turns to look at Hermione; she’s brought him out of his reverie.

“Sorry, what were you saying, Hermione?” He asks, because he doesn’t really know what to ask her; it’s something that happens now. He fiddles with his quill that he’s got in his hand, abandoned parchment looking ever so abandoned on his end of the couch.

“I was saying that you should really study for your Transfiguration test-” She’s doing that Hermione thing again, it used to be assuring- it meant that nothing ever changes but all it does now is show him how much things have changed.

“Oh sorry, I’ll get to that soon.” He rubs his face and pulls away when he realizes what he’s done. His hands-

“Harry,” She says this softly looking at him- into him, searching for the problem, the Hermione thing; Harry drops his gaze and feels that bit more disgusted because he knows what she wants to say-

“You seem so detached,” she gives him that face-that expression- those eyes; it’s all too much. He doesn’t need this, right now. He doesn’t deserve this, what he is doesn’t deserve this.

“I think I’m going to bed Hermione, I feel really tired,” Harry says-not looking at her, getting up from the common room couch and heads for the boy’s dormitory. Hermione’s ‘Okay’ can barely be heard over the loudness of their housemates playing Exploding Snaps, gossiping and laughing or just doing the usual Gryffindor things. Things that he doesn’t do anymore.

He climbs up the stairs and enters the room he shares with Neville, where he finds Neville just lying on his bed. Neville is not as stupid or as cheerful as people make him out to be. (People like Seamus and Dean)

“Hello, Harry,” He says without looking at him. Neville’s been this way for quite a while; Harry would have awarded himself for noticing something happening around him; Harry thinks he’s become more observant now- it’s probably true.

“What are you doing?” It’s not really a question, but he asks it anyway.

“Lying down.” It’s that voice of slight indifference and sadness; this- Harry thinks is one of those times where he thinks he really knows the _real_ Neville.

“Why?”

“I’m upset and I need to think,” He still doesn’t look at him and his voice gets quieter. Harry knows that voice, it happens when Neville gets _that_ feeling.

“About?”

“I’ve been feeling like this for ages- I just get this feeling. You know it, Harry, I think- I think someone’s been hurt or… something and I can’t do anything about it now.”

“Why?” Harry can’t manage to hide the strong surge of emotions that rise up- because they don’t know what happened, they don’t know. It’s been so long already, some people have actually forgotten about it.

 _How_ _could you say that? He was a person, a person so much better than you. He deserved to be remembered, he deserved to have something better than-_

“Uh… it’s alright, never mind, it’s nothing, it’s just you, I don’t think I’ll ever know what it is, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to but- well, never mind, Goodnight Harry,” and with that Neville gets up and buries himself in his sheets.

And so Harry is left to his thoughts and that’s something he is terrified of.

“Harry?” It’s Neville again.

“Yes, Neville,” trying to be strong-with his back to Neville, fists clenched.

“It feels like it’s already too late.”

“Anyway, I’ll stop talking now, goodnight.”

After what seems like an eternity, Harry stops clenching his fists and trying to keep the tears in- he hopes Neville doesn’t hear the silencing charm he puts around Harry’s bed, with the pounding of Harry’s heart after what Neville said, and the way Harry staggers onto his bed or the way Harry sobs into his sheets just before he says it-

“Dra- Dra- Draco Malfoy,” he manages.

“Draco Abra-Abraxaes Malfoy, date of birth-“ and there’s another sob that escapes him.

“Draco Abraxaes Malfoy, date of birth Ju-une fifth nineteen-eighty, date of-

“Date of death, May eighteenth, nineteen-ninety seven.”

“May eighteenth, nineteen- ninety seven,”

::.

Cold. Windy. It’s dark. The grass tickles his face and what could possibly be little insects. He can feel the dirt and grime everywhere; His face feels dirty too-it’s as if he fell multiple times. He spits out something and tries to get up, despite his body’s protesting.

He can’t see.

Where is this and what is this?

 _It is here._ A voice replies, it sounds so alien yet so familiar.

Who- who are you? He says turning around, even though he can’t see, he can’t sense anyone either. He searches for his wand blindly and finds that it’s not there, he must not have brought it with him.

 _It’s Me._  

Who are you?

_I don’t want to haunt you._

Who are you? What do you mean-?

_Goodbye, Harry._

Wait, please, don’t go-

_Open your eyes._

Harry opened his eyes, against the bitter judgment of his mind that said this it’s not safe listening to voices in his head, he opened his eyes to face the darkness of the forbidden forest.

“I’m in the forbidden forest?” Harry asks himself as he looks around to see the dark forest. He also finds himself lying on his stomach again and he tries to move which earns a wince and then he feels something akin to bile in his throat.

How did he get here? Who was he just speaking to? Why was this happening? Was it Voldemort again? But Voldemort was gone. It shouldn’t be him-

The trees of the forest rustle as the wind goes by, the moon and the stars are hidden by the clouds in the sky. It would have been beautiful if Harry wasn’t so scared out of his mind. The trees rustle again and Harry doesn’t want to be here; he can almost feel it. Whatever it is, he’s feeling. Harry finally manages to get up and-

“Hello?” He asks quietly and the leaves and sticks crunch under his feet as he walks on ahead. Nothing replies- everything is eerily silent and Harry rubs his eyes to make sure he’s seeing clearly.

This silence is frightening; he’s scared to say the least, but he walks on, counting the steps he takes; for a long time all he sees is trees and dark shadows; as he walks on, the trees shrink and the shadows grow taller, taller and taller. He quickens his pace and that’s when he sees it.

Hair white as snow- a familiar body, sitting on the forest ground facing the moon –not Harry-

Harry runs to him, heart pounding.

“Malfoy?” He almost sobs- he reaches out to touch his shoulder, he’s so close.

Malfoy turns around.

 

“Harry! “ Neville shouts; worried, he’s showered and all dressed up. He moves to get his bag and Harry tries to compose himself, “I’d tried to wake you up for so long, you weren’t responding, you were just mouthing a word or something.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, was really tired,” he gets up and doesn’t have to face Neville.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Neville asks from behind him.

It stops Harry for a moment’s pause then he remembers.

“Yeah, just tired, I’m going to shower before I’m late,” he says as he grabs his things and leaves for the boy’s showers.

“Okay,” Neville says –slowly- behind him.

 

:.

Parkinson is always crying.

That one hurts the most.

She tries to hide it sometimes, but Harry thinks Hogwarts is full of triggers, triggers- that remind you of people you lose, or people you’ve lost- he’s sure that Malfoy’s regular seat isn’t always vacant just because no one wants to sit there, he’s sure it’s because whoever decided they didn’t want to sit there wasn’t sitting there because they were _mourning-_  Slytherin lost their leader, their star student, they lost their prince. Malfoy was their prince.

He was.

Harry hates the vacant seat; hates it, because every day during every meal, he’s expected to just sit there, be okay and pretend nothing ever happened. How the fuck was he even remotely supposed to do _that_ -

 “I’m partnering with Crabbe for my Potions experiment,” Ron says absently, they’re at the Great Hall having breakfast.

Hermione stops reading through what looks like a really complicated Transfiguration book. Harry almost thinks she’ll respond badly.

“Good for you,” she replies instead- Of course, she wasn’t like Harry, she was better, less prejudiced, less hot-headed, less suicidal, less of a murderer. She wasn’t any of those things- any of the things Harry was.

Hermione doesn’t ask the question; Harry doesn’t ask the question either, so Ron doesn’t have to answer. Life is like this now, the three of them stepping over the elephant that occupies ninety percent of the room.

:.

It happens by accident- when Harry gets up to the Astronomy Tower for possibly the last time, he’s saying goodbye to it, to Hogwarts and to Draco.

He doesn’t realize he’s completely alone until he finds Terry Boot, flat on the floor staring at the stars.

“Harry,” he says without getting up- his gaze flickers to Harry’s face for a moment before he looks back up again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-

“Come and sit if you want, I really don’t care,” Terry tries, then after a moment,” It’s okay.”

They sit- well, Harry sits there and Terry lies down and says nothing- for almost fifteen minutes.

The silence is so uncomfortable it starts to choke him, he stand to get up, “you know what, it’s okay-”

Terry grabs his arm.

“Please, just sit, I need company,” he says in an almost painful voice.

Harry doesn’t look at him.

“The silence is choking me,” Harry confesses after a moment- he’s sitting again.

“My silence is choking me,” Terry says quietly.

Harry lays down- they look at the stars.

“Are you going to stay in the Wizarding World?”

Harry shifts,” No, I won’t,” _can’t._

“I don’t want to either.”

“Why?”

“Because everything reminds me of-“

Harry feels dread at those words.

_Who – who are you talking about?_

“I want to be a Muggle, I want to be someone else,” and he smiles, and Harry sees it- it’s a beautiful smile. Harry feels warm, “What would he say,I wonder,” Terry mutters softly with his smile much _sadder_.

Harry touches his arm, tentatively and smiles- hopefully giving comfort, he hasn’t smiled for a while.

Terry looks at him searching for something before he says, “He loved me, you know, but I didn’t love him back.”

_What?_

He sits up and stops looking at the stars,” And to think I have never seen Draco’s constellation,” Harry removes his hand, “I don’t think I ever will either,” Terry finishes.

Harry looks down- he feels cold.

“I want to be someone else too,” he says- _empty-_  and much too late.


	3. Saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to those who might b upset by my 9/11 reference ( I was not there, i dont know what happened-all that i have written about it is not factual)  
> Plus heads up for not so suicide suicide attempt.

 

_"We're the ones that need saving."_

 

Harry wakes up like he always wakes up. His alarm goes off ten times, before he actually opens his eyes and uses his outstretched hand to stop it- he uses a Muggle alarm, instead of a magical one- because he'd promised himself that he wouldn't buy another one after he threw Ron's away.

He rubs his hands across his face, but stops himself. Once he pulls off the blankets, he walks to the bathroom in his bedroom and stares at himself in the mirror- he observes the beard that he's carefully keeping ( _neat_ ) and the short haircut that finally tamed his hair. Harry's revised look, the look he adopted when he was accepted to the Force make him look like anyone but Harry Potter- his eyes are blue too- contacts. He looks at himself for a moment more, and then he closes his eyes and does his breathing exercises.

His name might be Harry Potter, but here in this city- _his_  city, he's just Harry.

He casts a Tempus- because come, on, he might be late and the clock is half way across the room. Then he realizes that he'll be late for work if he isn't done in ten minutes. He showers quickly, a quick charm to iron his blue Officer's uniform and Harry moves swiftly in the room in his towel and goes through his drawers looking for boxers. He grabs the first one he sees- the green one with bright stars. They reminded him of Duke and that's why he bought them, six months ago. He smiles at the thought of Duke.

He ignores or tries to ignore the elegant box lodged carefully on the other side of his drawer- the black and silver design daring him to open it so that Harry can choke in the contents of the box.

_Not today._

He will not face these demons today.

He closes the drawer quickly or quick enough for his thoughts to be carried elsewhere. He has to get off work early today. He shrugs on his clothes and combs a hand through his hair and trims his beard- he will not look like a hobo, but he will not look like Harry Potter either. He grabs some slices of bread, his bag, badge, keys and checks that his wand is carefully concealed with a spell under his pillow.

He takes one look around his house and goes out the door.

:.

Harry  _is_  going to be late.

So much so that he decides to fuck it all and apparate into the police station's bathroom. After feeling his insides shift inside him for less than a second, Harry finds himself in the porcelain white bathroom- standing near the last stall. He rights himself in the mirror, and does his breathing exercises. He stares at himself some more, and tries to chase away the wandering thoughts and doesn't run a hand over his face this time-

He hates bathrooms, so he leaves.

He finds Donna, the cleaning lady about to go into the bathroom he came from.

"Harry," she says warmly. She stops mopping and looks at him with warm eyes, "How are you sweetheart?"

"Great," Harry says-smiling- he's learnt how to do that now, "After that amazing pie you gave me yesterday, I don't think anyone could feel any better."

She smiles so wide, it makes Harry almost feel something.

Laughing, she says, "Well, I'll make more for you if that's the case, you're such a darling, Harry, when are you giving me grandbabies?"

Harry reddens as Donna laughs at his reaction, "Er-, um…well-"

"I'm kidding, Harry, now go, I'm keeping you from your work," she smiles-  _Harry sees Mrs. Weasley._

Harry painfully arranges in face muscles in a hopefully pleasant goodbye to Donna.

He moves through the group of officers just coming in, greeting some of the ones he knows- but he's not stopping to talk to them. He finally gets into an elevator and finds it relatively empty.

One of the perks of getting to work early is that you don't have to engage yourself in painful elevator conversations with your nosy workmates.

When he reaches his floor (which he thinks looks quite abandoned l) he goes into his office, the one he shares with Miles and collapses into his seat. He can feel the pounding of his heart so he tries to calm himself down and does his breathing exercises again.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

:.

"What I'm saying Harry is that these days the people don't really trust us," Miles says as he eats a massive burger. Harry is vaguely reminded of Ron, "I mean, nine eleven, hit everyone bad, but we are-we're supposed to be the people they look up to and the people they believe will protect them," Miles stops as he cards a hand through his  _slightly longer than Harry's_  black hair- He was more muscle and had a more mature face than Harry when Harry shaved.

They're in the car- eating their lunch around the corner of McDonald's. Harry's eating the same greasy burger Miles is eating. He's no Ron, he's just really hungry today.

"I think people are just trying to come to terms with the fact that this happened and we couldn't- or we tried to do something about it, but we couldn't really. You know that I was in Romania and Antarctica the time before and when it happened, and when I heard, it was maybe three months later-and remember how you wanted to chop my head off for not knowing until I came back, you said it was inconsiderate of me to not know even though it wasn't my fau-

"Because, _Harry_ , it  _was_  really stupid! Are you telling me that they had  _no_  newspapers,  _no_  radio,  _no_  TV, absolutely  _no_   _nothing_  broadcasting the whole thing?"

"I had already left for Antarctica by that time- I only spent a week in Romania , but I spent three months in Antarctica- you keep forgetting that," he shoots back, exasperated.

"And why the fuck were you in Romania and fucking Antarctica anyway?" Miles asks with that incredulous expression on his face, "No, a better question is, what the fuck were you doing in Antarctica? "

"That's a story for another day -you're changing the subject here," Harry puts up a hand to stop Miles from interrupting, "Let me just get to my point, okay?" Miles shrugs and rolls his eyes, Harry continues, "So Miles, I was in Antarctica and you were here, you were even working when it happened, you watched the news, you called your parents who were in Boston, even though they weren't anywhere close and you called your sister too who's always halfway around the world- and that one scared you the most, because sometimes, you don't know where she is, so you called her and you found out that she was actually fast asleep in whichever country she had taken an interest in at that time. You had your family and friends safe, and I know you tried to contact me, Davies told me," Miles scoffs, "Anyway what I mean to say is that it  _relieved_  you that your family and friends were safe, but the fact that there were people who died or were injured that day with families and friends of their own made you feel like you were betraying your honor, by being honest with yourself –by  _being relieved-_  and so you were in anguish that you hadn't and couldn't do anything."

Harry stops to take a breath, "Yes, people are still afraid, heck, I was afraid when I heard at the airport- I spent the entire trip feeling numb and upset because I wasn't there and I hadn't done anything."

"What, Harry, you  _think_ -don't tell me you thought you could have stopped a whole bunch of terrorists singlehandedly, if not all the terrorists in the world?" Miles asks sarcastically.

_It's not like I haven't done something that before._

Harry almost smiles, but ignores Miles' statement to continue instead, "People are still afraid, yes, but if we have people like you, who would have flown there if the airlines hadn't been shut down and people like me, who don't have anything to lose, and would rather see a happy world without me than a sad one with me in it, then I think we'll be okay. We can't let this  _terror_ engulf us, because that's exactly what terrorists want- they want to instill terror in our hearts so we turn against each other, and if we let that happen- then what's the point of a world like this? We have to rise up from the ashes, even if we're scorched black- we have to find the light that'll shine in people's hearts and that's up to us now," Harry stops to sigh, but his words are confident as he looks Miles in the eye, "It's up to us to make them believe in the world again, in us - believe that we swore to protect and serve them. They have to believe we're their protectors and that we'll stop at nothing to save the world, one stray kitten to one nuclear bomb at a time."

Harry is surprised at his words, it actually sounded like something Dumbledore, Hermione, Sirius or Remus could have said- or maybe a mixture of all of them.

_At least it doesn't hurt so much to think of Sirius anymore._

He looks at Miles and sees Mile's face full of emotion.

"You're not going to cry on me, are you?" Harry asks jokingly after a moment.

"You're the nansy pansy, remember?" Miles says and moves to look out the car window as a stray tear escapes his left eye.

Harry pretends not to see it.

After what seems like a million years, Miles says, "You have quite the hero complex, Harry Potter."

Harry smiles and almost remembers someone.

:.

" **Potter, Crowley, sorry to interrupt your lunch, but we have a situation on Hana Street, Jumper on the EAD Hotel roof, looks highly suicidal, how far are you two?"**

They're still in the car- about to leave. Harry and Miles share a look before Harry says, "Not too far, about a couple blocks away."

"Not another jumper," Miles groans as he starts the car. Harry packs his burger away carefully and does his breathing exercises quietly.

" **It's what you signed up for, fellas, Potter I want you to talk to him, since you have a magical mouth or that's what they say."**

Miles laughs at the innuendo- Harry shrugs it off and looks at Miles, not appreciating his partner's insensitivity. At this point, Harry just wants to go home so he won't be late for his appointment.

_I hope this guy can be easily persuaded._

" **Alright, boys, good luck."**

:.

People are gathering around the bottom of the building when Harry and Miles pull up- Harry takes in the vast amount of people all coming together to witness what- a suicide? Or did they want to help?

"Someone's going to have to do crowd control- these guys look a little too enthusiastic," Miles says, looking over the crowds and up to the top of the building, he squints and after a second he snarls, "The fucker's swinging his legs over the ledge- he's already gone that far-"

"What did we say about your insensitivity, Miles," Harry comments as he surveys the crowds.

Something doesn't feel right.

"I think we should call in some back up, to control the crowds."

"I'll go make a quick one to Davies and Parker, they should be near here, plus Travis and Reitman." Miles says as he goes back into the car- his voice is almost unheard over the heightened tension and loudness of the crowds near Harry.

In less than a minute, however, he hears sirens and sees his guys, Davies, Parker, and the other two come around the corner. Davies is the oldest and most experienced cop the city has probably seen, and he trained Harry himself when Harry was a rookie.

"Harry," he says as he nears Harry- His short grey hair moves in the wind and Harry wishes he brought his coat. His face has a number of lines, but he's still young, at least fifty and physically bigger than Harry-though half the task force is actually bigger than Harry, "So we've got a jumper and a hyped up crowd," Davies says as he looks over the crowd and up to the top of the building- the person up there was still swinging their legs.

"Looks like it's a kid," Parker comments next to Davies. Parker is Davie's protégé- he is more Steve Davies than anyone else here. Parker has blond hair and nerdy look about him- he is the youngest and the tallest guy in the task force.

"I hate it when it's a kid," Miles says behind him.

"It's not as if you're going to be doing much but watch me try to get him to move away from the ledge."

"Come on, gentlemen, get a room later, we have a kid to save-ya'll go up right now and the rest of us will control the crowds."

Just as soon as Davies says that, a loud "Why don't you jump already?" can be heard from the crowd- the men look at each other before they disperse. Miles and Harry are already in the hotel and going in the elevator to the closest floor to the top. They get out at the fiftieth floor and have to walk up the stairs five floors before they reach the roof door- a black and almost tattered thing, really- the kid somehow broke in by abusing the door over a period of time or with some tremendous force.

Harry's magic said otherwise.

"I really hate these ones," Miles says quietly before Harry opens the door gently and is met by the brightness of the sun from the roof top. Harry and Miles walk cautiously for three large steps before the person-  _boy_ , stops swinging his legs over the ledge.

Harry reacts, "Hey, there,"

The boy -in a hoodie-doesn't turn his head.

"Hey, pal, mind helping me out here? Could I talk to you?"

_Silence._

The wind starts to pick up and Harry really wishes he brought his coat.

"Could you face me? I really don't think you should do this-jumping, I mean what will your family think?" Harry either says something right or wrong because the boy looks at him.

And Harry feels something.

Miles grows weary and antsy behind him so he moves three more steps closer; he's close enough to see that this kid is probably sixteen or seventeen.

_Someone's kid- at sixteen or seventeen, on the verge of committing suicide._

He thinks of Duke.

"What's your name?"

The boy doesn't answer.

"You know it's rude to be facing somewhere else when someone is talking to you," Mile snaps.

Harry looks at Miles, shocked.

"Don't say anything," Harry warns him.

When Harry turns back to the boy, he finds him with his legs no longer over the ledge. Harry almost sighs in relief- he turns to give Miles' smug face a rare thankful expression. Harry takes this opportunity to move closer to the boy, "My name is Harry- I'm a police officer," the boy watches Harry with no expression in his eyes, "But I'm also someone you could talk to, if or when you're feeling suicidal."

Harry is only two steps away from him now, but he doesn't want to push his luck. The wind blows at the boy's hoodie, the hood is blown back and the boy's long red hair spills out-

"Would you let me help you?" Harry asks in earnest.

Harry gives him his hand.

And the boy smiles.

_The world stops- the wind blows fiercely at Harry's face._

_The boy moves one leg over the ledge and then he smiles again._

_He stands on the ledge with the other leg and mouths something at Harry._

_Harry tries to move, to grab ahold of him to stop him, but the boy steps off the ledge effortlessly and almost with grace- his red hair flies over his face._

_He falls._

_And never stops smiling._

Everything shifts- Miles is screaming and Harry runs to the ledge and looks over, maybe he can spell him back up, oh, why the fuck didn't Harry do that the first time-

But Harry sees no boy, and he sees no body.

_He was gone._

 


	4. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hermione.  
> And Hello...?

_Because we’re all terribly, broken._

Harry curses- _again_.

What the hell just happened?

Miles is already looking over the ledge with him and he’s got a confused expression on his face, “Harry, where’s the body?" Miles is panicking. Harry is panicking.

Harry tries to do his breathing exercises.

 _Where’s the body?_ That’s what everyone down there is thinking as well, because he sees Davies and the rest try to contain the shell-shocked crowd, some are yelling that it’s the terrorists again, some are just gaping with mouths open and some are screaming. But, there’s one man who suddenly yells _Witchcraft._

_Oh fuck._

Harry sighs- no he groans, because there’s going to be a heck of a cleanup on this. He puts a hand to his forehead, trying to will the incoming headache, whilst he ignore Miles’ frantic words beside him

“-because you don’t just disappear like that, Harry, oh my fuck, I am in total freak-out mode and that’s not okay, I’m a _cop_ , I was not seeing _things_ , cops do not see _things_ , I did not see _things_ , my eyes saw everything _clearly_ , I’m not seeing things am I? Am I seeing things, Harry? I’m not right? Right? But if I am, then you’d be seeing them too, right? You’d be seeing them wit-”

“Petrificus Totalus,” Harry mutters as he looks at Miles. He’s already tired and it’s only two in the afternoon, “Sorry mate,” Harry says exasperated, shaking his head and not fully recovered from what just happened.

He pulls out his cellphone and dials the first number there, “Hey, I know it’s been a while- but I need your help, we’ve got a situation here- Muggles asking too many questions after a Jumper jumped off a building and disappeared. There were crowds of people that saw the incident.” There’s an answer and some questions from the person on the line, “How many people? Uhm, I would say no less than a hundred,” he winces inwardly as he answers,” No, I’m not going anywhere yet, but I’m really tired. Just hurry and bring the Aurors please, I’ll beg if I have to.”

:.

“A _hello-Hermione-how-are-you-it's been-so-long-I-missed-you_ would be nice, but all I ever seem to get is _Hello_ _-_ _I_ _-_ _just_ _-_ _got–into- some- trouble-Hermione_ , _Do-you-mind-helping-me-out-Hermione_ , _I- need- to-get-rid-of-more-Dark-Lords-Hermione,_ ” Hermione says when she apparates onto the roof top. Down below there’s a dozen and more Aurors stunning people and casting a huge, modified version of Notice-Me-Not.

“Oh, thank God,” Harry says (groans) - in _relief._ Hermione moves to hug Harry. It’s been quite a long time and maybe for that reason, it feels so awkward and alien- _unfamiliar_.

“ _Oh, thank God_ for all my troubles?” She’s smiling, she always is. Or that’s what Harry thinks anyway.

“Did you do something with your hair?” He says trying to be okay. But he never really is.

“Oh my goodness, you actually noticed something about me for once-the world must be ending, is Ron next?” Hermione jokes- _almost_ comfortably as she untangles herself from him, holding him by the arms.

“Since when did you become so sarcastic?” he wants to joke too, he wants to be funny, he wants to be comfortable, but all that happens is her tensing up, and looking all too uncomfortable.

Harry wants to know what’s wrong, instead he says, “Your hair looks nice short, it’s like a boy’s haircut, but it’s not- it makes you look determinedly feminine and your clothes, you don’t wear robes like all the other Aurors do- you actually wear a suit with pants, not a skirt and it describes exactly how exceptional you are- and how you stand out with the Aurors.”

She’s flustered for a second, but she recovers saying, “That’s very kind of you to say, Harry,” and after a beat she says, “I missed you.”  Harry feels a stab of guilt.

The wind blows in her short hair and Harry smells Miles’ cologne.

“Oh my gosh- oh yes, Hermione, meet Miles.”

“I think we’ll be better acquainted when he’s less _petrified_?” Hermione says as she laughs a rich laugh. She sounds happy, she looks happy- and Harry has nothing to do with any of it.

There was a time, in which Harry, well _Harry_ would have felt some sort of immeasurable sorrow at that realization, but right now, he feels a faint tug at something that should be his feelings- or what’s left of them anyway.

That makes him think of Dra-

“My men are going through every place that recorded, mentioned or talked about anything on this particular incident, we have a spell that can track even crowds of people from a distinct happening that they have in common- Blaise and I worked on it after Nine Eleven-”

“ _Blaise_? As in Blaise Zabini? From Hogwarts?” Harry asks as he feels himself sit on the floor of the roof- Hermione joins him after she moves Miles into a more comfortable position.

“Yes, Harry, the one and only, in fact he was supposed to come with me, but I asked him if he could teach the rest of the Aurors the modified Notice-Me-Not spell,” and then she pulls back her jacket sleeve to reveal a plain black watch, she’s looking at the time, Harry notices.

_Is he taking up too much of her time? He just wants, he just wanted to-_

“Yeah, I noticed the spell, it’s pretty handy,” Harry says instead, moving to sit cross-legged, playing with a rock on the floor, “I’m surprised that I even recognized it, haven’t done much heavy duty spell casting in a while.”

“We’re Aurors, Harry, it’s kind of our job to make sure that we’re three steps ahead of everyone,” she runs a hand through her hair and looks around before she smiles in her very Hermione way, “And I actually made that spell, after months of research and travelling- talking to all sorts of legendary wizards about their spell casting, how they began their work, you wouldn’t believe how much actually goes into the whole process…”

Harry watches Hermione speak with such passion about a career that was supposed to be his life, supposed to be something he loved the way Hermione does- _and she’s changed too_. So much, that when he watches her mouth move with words that are supposed to invite excitement and happiness, her hair flow in the wind, her perfume wafting in the air and then, _that’s_ when Harry realizes that he’s not a part of that anymore, he’s not been anything even close to that for years and yet he always assumes that even if everything else goes to shit, that he’ll have her.

Because he’s her Harry and she’s his Hermione- they would always be at the very least, friends.

Yet, it isn’t like that in the slightest-he abandoned her, _he abandoned her_ and now she’s getting on with her life, like Harry doesn’t even matter anymore-

“And I think that’s kind of how Blaise and I started to get along, he’s really not bad, I mean, half the Slytherins at school weren’t really that bad- towards the end.”

“You’ve _changed_ , Hermione.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, but he does and he tries not to, but he looks at her anyway and she looks- upset, she gets up and puts her hands on her thighs and pats some of the dust and dirt off the back.

“Well, Harry, you sure haven’t changed much, have you?” She mutters under her breath.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t mean-”

“No, Harry, you did mean it and well, I suppose I don’t and I shouldn’t expect anything less from you,” she says before she checks her watch again, “you should probably start on describing this pseudo- suicidal person that we’re referring to as ‘your jumper’, you say he just swung both legs over the ledge and jumped, but disappeared into thin air when you went over to check?”

“Hermione, we have to talk about it, I know you’re upset, but I swear I really didn’t-”

“ _Harry Potter_. I came here to do my job , just as you are here doing yours so let’s help each other out and then we can talk about maybe ‘talking about feelings’,” she says almost softly, not looking at him, “ I don’t want to get into this right now, or maybe even _never_ because I think we both know that abandoning people doesn’t set you on the best terms with them so they’re probably inclined to not having to listen to what you want to tell them, or what you think about them, or what you’ve been doing all these years whilst they yearned to have someone they thought was their _friend_ back- I think people all have their own baggage, their own problems ,yes, I know we both have our own problems- but I don’t think you’re half as committed in this friendship of ours as I am and I don’t want to you to think that just because I’m Hermione, _your supposed Hermione_ , that I’m going to do you favors all the time because you need me or that I’ll up and drop everything for you if ever the time comes because I’ve needed you many times over the years Harry and _You...Weren’t ...There._ ”

“I suppose a, ‘How’s Ron’ would be a stupid question then?”

“If you cared, you’d see him, Harry.” And that one hits Harry like a knife to the guts. He should never have called her, he shouldn’t have asked her to come here, after everything that happened with him and Ron and the rift that began with Hermione afterwards-

Harry’s always been a bad friend, but he never thought Hermione, he just never thinks-

“Can we do our jobs now, Harry?” She says – not looking at him, he’s hunched over, thinking.

 _No_ , he decides. Today is not the day for breakdowns or facing demons, but maybe it is a day for losing friends.

“Uh,” Harry says as he gets up, patting the dust off his uniform pants,” He was a young male, presumably in his mid-teens-probably no older than sixteen or seventeen, he had long red hair, I did get a close up, but that wasn’t enough to determine his distinct features- but I can say he was somewhat _familiar_.”

The sound of the Quick Notes Quill stops as Hermione looks at Harry in an analytical way- asking him, “familiar? What do you mean? Do you think you’ve met this boy somewhere before?”

Sighing as he runs a hand through his hair, Harry says, “No, I don’t think so, but I still feel like I might have had encounters with someone that reminds me of him- or actually, someone that he reminds me of?” Harry says, trying to understand himself.

_Why does he think of a pale face, white hair and a pool of blood?_

_Why does he think of Draco?_

“Who does he remind you of Harry?” Hermione asks almost urgently.

“Someone that’s been gone for a long time.” He says as he looks over the building. He doesn’t want to talk about him, he shouldn’t have to-

“Draco Malfoy?” She asks softly. And the distress on Harry’s face probably makes her say what she says next, “It’s okay, Harry. Draco’s been gone for years.”

“I know that,” he accidentally snaps-

Of course he knows, he’s known that for the entire five years, every single day, he’s reminded that he’s breathing and Draco’s not. That Draco’s six feet under, buried at Hogwarts , but he’s here, in this city, not in the Wizarding World not even living as what he is - _a wizard_ , but here -posing as a _Muggle_ , living like he’s someone else.

_“I want to be someone else.”_

_“Draco Malfoy,” an outstretched hand, a smirk on his face-this is the boy who wants to be Harry’s friend._

_“Potter,” a familiar drawl, a sneering face, white hair and the air of royalty- this is the boy Harry hates._

_“Potter,” a vulnerable voice, a scared boy, white hair and tears streaming down his face-this is the boy Harry wants to understand._

_“Draco,” Harry chokes- a pale body, still and unmoving, dressed in white funeral robes- he almost looks like an angel. He does look like an angel._

_And that was the boy Harry killed._

“I went to the funeral,” Hermione says gently- it’s not her fault that she doesn’t know what he did, “I guess after seeing Mrs. Malfoy the way she was, I let all of the prejudiced thoughts that had crept inside of me go. It took Ginny a bit longer, but she understands, she knows why you do some of the things you do, with Duke and with-”

“Please, let’s not talk about them-I don’t want to bring any of them in this.”

_“Uncle Harry!” Harry sees a toddler running towards him, hugging his knees, Harry crouches down and plants a kiss on his forehead._

_“Duke,” he says warmly. Grey eyes and black hair- this little boy is beautiful. He makes Harry warm- he makes Harry feel._

“Draco Malfoy wasn’t so bad actually,” she pauses, taking a breath, “he was just mean to _you_ , and he had some friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff that came to his funeral, I’m friends with some of them now, they’re actually very nice people.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The wind suddenly blows into his face-it’s _cold_ and Harry wishes once more, that he’s brought his coat.

“Because he’s not a bad person, because he didn’t deserve to die, because you shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling that he _should have_ died, because you shouldn’t think that he deserved to die at all.”

Harry stares at Hermione, how could she think this of him?

_Was that what she thought?_

_Was that/this what everyone thought or still thinks?_

Today is not the day for confrontations or confessions or going deeper than is necessary into his feelings bank, neither is it a day for Harry to be strong- so he just says, “Of course he shouldn’t have,” his voice hollow and empty.

:.

“I think it’s safe to say that the jumper was a Wizard- it’s the only explanation,” Hermione says as her Aurors are waiting for her as she gives her last words to Harry.

“I think so as well,” Harry says, drained physically and mentally. He just wants to go home now- he rubs a hand over his face and flinches when he remembers. He’ll not go for his appointment- he can’t-

Hermione wants to ask if he’s okay but she knows Harry’s a bit too fucked up than that so she just gives him a tight smile and says, “ Well, Harry, see you soon, you should visit some time.” She looks like she almost means it.

“Thank you for coming, Hermione,” and he says this, smiling slightly. He doesn’t feel any of the emotions required to smile, however.

She looks at him like she wants to say something then she shakes her head, “Well, watch out for that rogue Wizard, he might not know you are Harry Potter, but we don’t know what he was doing here either, we’ll be looking for him on our end as well- take care of yourself, Harry.”

She apparates away.

:.

“Harry,” Miles says as he grabs his stuff- they’re knocking off from work, “I feel kind of weird, today, like I’m forgetting something,” he bumps his shoulder against Harry’s as they enter the elevator. He’s smiling- he almost always is. He doesn’t tower over Harry even though he’s taller- he just fits himself next to Harry like they complement each other.

“Don’t you always feel weird? And you do have a _shit_ memory.”

Miles may not be the brightest of friends, or the nicest-but he’s Harry’s friend. He puts up with Harry and Harry puts up with him. He may be _Harry Potter_ , but to Miles, he’s just Harry.  That may be running away from demons and feelings and a long list of other things Harry Potter is running away from, but Harry takes comfort in the fact that, stripped of his title, name and fame- there are people in the world that would and do actually like him.

Even if he’s too fucked up to be okay right now, even if he’s too fucked up to just _ask_ Miles to have a drink with him or actually join Parker when he invites him to watch his little brother’s baseball game- he’s still got them, because they don’t know who Harry Potter is and they don’t know what Harry Potter means.

They don’t know that he’s a coward.

“See you tomorrow, Harry,” Miles says just as he punches Harry’s shoulder lightly and turns around grinning -he runs home. _I’m exercising_ , is what Miles says each time Harry asks him why he does that.

Harry lingers, staring at his friend’s retreating figure, before he mutters “Wanker,” softly.

He tries not to think about Hermione or Ron. He tries not to think about-

_“Because he didn’t deserve to die.”_

Harry goes home.

:.

“What the fuck, Miles?” Harry groans as he lets his friend in the house- it’s almost midnight.

“M’srry, Harry,” Miles grumbles as he gets in- he’s piss drunk and smells like cigarettes and a liquor store, “ forgot my keys ,” he says as he lands on Harry’s couch- making himself comfortable and forgetting that he just imposed himself on Harry. He’s wearing dark jeans and a grey hoodie, but it’s chilly tonight, yet he seems to have already fallen asleep.

“You’re impossible,” Harry says as he sighs. He pads to his room and gets a spare blanket, covering Miles and making sure he’s sleeping the right way.

And because Harry’s a sucker for lost causes as much as he is himself, he gets Miles a bottle of water and some pills to help with the hangover when he wakes up. He stares at Miles a little when he crouches to put the water next to him- he pushes Miles’ hair from his face and Miles starts to snore.

 _It’s what Ron would have done for me;_ he can’t stop himself from thinking.

He goes up to bed and tries to stop the stinging in his eyes.

:.

Harry wakes up around two a.m. with a scream. He’s the one screaming, he’s the one crying, but he’s not the one who was dying.

He puts on his jeans and a jacket and apparates to the only place he can right now-

:.

When he arrives at the manor in Wiltshire, he’s hugging himself, but he’s still crying- he can’t take it, it’s too much, he’s dying. He feels like he’s dying, he didn’t mean to, he never wanted to-

“Harry?” a voice says from the door- at some point in Harry’s breakdown the inhabitants of the home were informed of his arrival.

Long white hair with black streaks and a dark robe is what Harry sees- she barely makes three steps outside her door before Harry has her in an embrace.

“Narcissa,” he breathes, into her shoulder with tears streaming down his face.


End file.
